
Class J i \ (o0w?7 







COPYRIGHT DEPOSm I 



LOVER'S GIFT 



AND 



CROSSING 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



^ LOVER'S GIFT 



AND 



CROSSING 



BY 



J^LA, RABINDRANATH TAGORE / 



Nrm fork 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1918 



AU rights reserved 






Copyright, 1918 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1918. 



/ 

APR 10 1918 



GI,A494535 ^ 



'VK) 1* 



LOVER'S GIFT 



You allowed your kingly power to vanish, Sha- 
jahan, but your wish was to make imperishable 
a tear-drop of love. 

^ime has no pity for the human heart, he laughs 
at its sad struggle to remember/ 

You allured him with beauty, made him cap- 
tive, and crowned the formless death with fade- 
less form. 

The secret whispered in the hush of night to 
the ear of your love is wrought in the perpetual 
silence of stone. 

Though empires crumble to dust, and cen- 
turies are lost in shadows, the marble still sighs 
to. the stars, "I remember." 

"I remember." — But life forgets, for she has 
her call to the Endless: and she goes on her voy- 
age unburdened, leaving her memories to the 
forlorn forms of beauty. 



8 LOVER'S GIFT 



2 

Come to my garden walk, my love. Pass by the 
fervid flowers that press themselves on your sight. 
Pass them by, stopping at some chance joy, 
that like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, 
yet eludes. 

For love's gift is shy, it never tells its name, it 
flits across the shade, spreading a shiver of joy 
along the dust. Overtake it or miss it for ever. 
But a gift that can be grasped is merely a frail 
flower, or a lamp with a flame that will flicker. 



LOVER'S GIFT 



The fruits come in crowds into my orchard, they 
jostle each other. They surge up in the hght in 
an anguish of fullness. 

Proudly step into my orchard, my queen, sit 
there in the shade, pluck the ripe fruits from 
their stems, and let them yield, to the utmost, 
their burden of sweetness at your lips. 

In my orchard the butterflies shake their wings 
in the sun, the leaves tremble, the fruits clamour 
to come to completion. 



10 LOVER'S GIFT 



She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to 
the earth; she is sweet to me as sleep is to tired 
hmbs. My love for her is my life flowing in 
its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running 
with serene abandonment. My songs are one 
with my love, like the murmur of a stream, that 
sings with all its waves and currents. 



LOVER'S GIFT 11 



I WOULD ask for still more, if I had the sky with 
all its stars, and the world with its endless riches; 
but I would be content with the smallest corner 
of this earth if only she were mine. 



12 LOVER'S GIFT 



6 

In the light of this thriftless day of spring, my 
poet, sing of those who pass by and do not linger, 
who laugh as they run and never look back, who 
blossom in an hour of unreasoning delight, and 
fade in a moment without regret. 

Do not sit down silently, to tell the beads of 
your past tears and smiles, — do not stop to pick 
up the dropped petals from the flowers of over- 
night, do not go to seek things that evade you, 
to know the meaning that is not plain, — leave 
the gaps in your life where they are, for the music 
to come out of their depths. 



LOVER'S GIFT 13 



It is little that remains now, the rest was spent 
in one careless summer. It is just enough to 
put in a song and sing to you; to weave in a flower- 
chain gently clasping your wrist; to hang in your 
ear like a round pink pearl, like a blushing whis- 
per; to risk in a game one evening and utterly 
lose. 

My boat is a frail small thing, not fit for cross- 
ing wild waves in the rain. If you but lightly 
step on it I shall gently row you by the shelter 
of the shore, where the dark water in ripples are 
like a dream-ruffled sleep; where the dove's cooing 
from the drooping branches makes the noon-day 
shadows plaintive. At the day's end, when you 
are tired, I shall pluck a dripping lily to put in 
your hair and take my leave. 



14 LOVER'S GIFT 



8 

There is room for you. You are alone with 
your few sheaves of rice. My boat is crowded, 
it is heavily laden, but how can I turn you away.^ 
your young body is slim and swaying; there is a 
twinkling smile in the edge of your eyes, and 
your robe is coloured like the rain-cloud. 

The travellers will land for different roads and 
homes. You will sit for a while on the prow of 
my boat, and at the journey's end none will keep 
you back. 

Where do you go, and to what home, to garner 
your sheaves.^ I will not question you, but when 
I fold my sails and moor my boat, I shall sit and 
wonder in the evening, — Where do you go, and 
to what home, to garner your sheaves? 



LOVER'S GIFT 15 



9 

Woman, your basket is heavy, your limbs are 
tired. For what distance have you set out, with 
what hunger of profit? The way is long and the 
dust is hot in the sun. 

See, the lake is deep and full, its water dark 
like a crow's eye. The banks are sloping and 
tender with grass. 

Dip your tired feet into the water. The noon- 
tide wind will pass its fingers through your hair; 
the pigeons will croon their sleep songs, the leaves 
will murmur the secrets that nestle in the shadows. 

What matters it if the hours pass and the sun 
sets; if the way through the desolate land be lost 
in the waning light. 

Yonder is my house, by the hedge of flowering 
henna; I will guide you. I will make a bed for 
you, and light a lamp. In the morning when the 
birds are roused by the stir of milking the cows, 
I will waken you. 



16 LOVER'S GIFT 



10 

What is it that drives these bees from their home; 
these followers of unseen trails? What cry is 
this in their eager wings? How can they hear 
the music that sleeps in the flower soul? How 
can they find their way to the chamber where 
the honey lies shy and silent? 



LOVER'S GIFT 17 



11 

It was only the budding of leaves in the summer, 
the summer that came into the garden by the 
sea. It was only a stir and rustle in the south 
wind, a few lazy snatches of songs, and then the 
day was done. 

But let there be flowering of love in the summer 
to come in the garden by the sea. Let my joy 
take its birth and clap its hands and dance with 
the surging songs, and make the morning open 
its eyes wide in sweet amazement. 



18 LOVER'S GIFT 



n 

Ages ago when you opened the south gate of 
the garden of gods, and came down upon the 
first youth of the earth, O Spring; men and women 
rushed out of their houses, laughing and dancing, 
and pelting each other with flower-dust in a sud- 
den madness of mirth 

Year after year you bring the same flowers 
that you scattered in your path in that earliest 
April. Therefore, to-day, in their pervading per- 
fume, they breathe the sigh of the days that are 
now dreams, — the clinging sadness of vanished 
worlds. Your breeze is laden with love-legends 
that have faded from all human language. 

One day, with fresh wonder, you came into my 
life that was fluttered with its first love. Since 
then the tender timidness of that inexperienced 
joy comes hidden every year in the early green 
buds of your lemon flowers; your red roses carry 
in their burning silence all that was unutterable 
in me; the memory of lyric hours, those days of 
May, rustles in the thrill of your new leaves born 
again and again. 



LOVER'S GIFT 19 



13 

Last night in the garden I offered you my youth's 
foaming wine. You hfted the cup to your hps, 
you shut your eyes and smiled while I raised 
your veil, unbound your tresses, drawing down 
upon my breast your face sweet with its silence, 
last night when the moon's dream overflowed the 
world of slumber. 

To-day in the dew-cooled calm of the dawn 
you are walking to God's temple, bathed and 
robed white, with a basketful of flowers in your 
hand. I stand aside in the shade under the tree, 
with my head bent, in the calm of the dawn by 
the lonely road to the temple. 



^ LOVER'S GIFT 



14 

If I am impatient to-day, forgive me, my love. 
It is the first summer rain, and the riverside forest 
is aflutter, and the blossoming kadam trees, are 
tempting the passing winds with wine-cups of 
perfume. See, from all corners of the sky light- 
nings are darting their glances, and winds are 
rampant in your hair. 

If to-day I bring my homage to you, forgive 
me, my love. The everyday world is hidden in 
the dimness of the rain, all work has stopped in 
the village, the meadows are desolate. In your 
dark eyes the coming of the rain finds its music, 
and it is at your door that July waits with jas- 
mines for your hair in its blue skirt. 



LOVER'S GIFT gl 



15 

Her neighbours call her dark in the village — 
but she is a lily to my heart, yes, a lily though 
not fair. Light came muffled with clouds, when 
first I saw her in the field; her head was bare, 
her veil was off, her braided hair hanging loose 
on her neck. She may be dark as they say in 
the village, but I have seen her black eyes and 
am glad. 

The pulse of the air boded storm. She rushed 
out of the hut, when she heard her dappled cow 
low in dismay. For a moment she turned her 
large eyes to the clouds, and felt a stir of the 
coming rain in the sky. I stood at the corner of 
the ricefield, — if she noticed me, it was known 
only to her (and perhaps I know it). She is dark 
as the message of shower in summer, dark as the 
shade of flowering woodland; she is dark as the 
longing for unknown love in the wistful night of 
May 



22 LOVER'S GIFT 



16 

She dwelt here by the pool with its landing-stairs 
in ruins. Many an evening she had watched the 
moon made dizzy by the shaking of bamboo 
leaves, and on many a rainy day the smell of the 
wet earth had come to her over the young shoots 
of rice. 

Her pet name is known here among those date- 
palm groves, and in the court-years where girls 
sit and talk, while stitching their winter quilts. 
The water in this pool keeps in its depth the 
memory of her swimming limbs, and her wet feet 
had left their marks, day after day, on the foot- 
path leading to the village. 

The women who come to-day with their vessels 
to the water, have all seen her smile over simple 
jests, and the old peasant, taking his bullocks to 
their bath, used to stop at her door every day 
to greet her. 

Many a sailing boat passes by this village; 
many a traveller takes rest beneath that banyan 
tree; the ferry boat crosses to yonder ford carry- 



LOVER'S GIFT 23 

ing crowds to the market; but they never notice 
this spot by the village road, near the pool with 
its ruined landing-stairs, — where dwelt she whom 
I love. 



24 LOVER'S GIFT 



17 

While ages passed and the bees haunted the 
summer gardens, the moon smiled to the HKes 
of the night, the Hghtnings flashed their fiery 
kisses to the clouds and fled laughing, the poet 
stood in a corner, one with the trees and clouds. 
He kept his heart silent, like a flower, watched 
through his dreams as does the crescent moon; 
and wandered like the summer breeze for no 
purpose. 

One April evening, when the moon rose up 
like a bubble from the depth of the sunset; and 
one maiden was busy watering the plants; and 
one feeding her doe, and one making her peacock 
dance, the poet broke out singing, — "O listen 
to the secrets of the world. I know that the lily 
is pale for the moon's love. The lotus draws her 
veil aside before the morning sun, and the reason 
is simple if you think. The meaning of the bee's 
hum in the ear of the early jasmine has escaped 
the learned, but the poet knows." 

The sun went down in a blaze of blush, the 



LOVER'S GIFT 25 

moon loitered behind the trees, and the south 
wind whispered to the lotus, that the poet was 
not as simple as he seemed. The maidens and 
youths clapped their hands and cried, — "The 
world's secret is out." They looked into each 
other's e^^es and sang — "Let our secret as well 
be flung into the winds." 



26 LOVER'S GIFT 



18 

Your days will be full of cares, if you must give 
me your heart. My house by the cross-roads has 
its doors open and my mind is absent, — for I sing. 

I shall never be made to answer for it, if you 
must give me your heart. If I pledge my word 
to you in tunes now, and am too much in earnest 
to keep it when music is silent, you must forgive 
me; for the law laid in May is best broken in 
December. 

Do not always keep remembering it, if you 
must give me your heart. When your eyes sing 
with love, and your voice ripples with laughter, 
my answers to your questions will be wild, and 
not miserly accurate in facts, — they are to be 
believed for ever and then forgotten for good. 



LOVER'S GIFT %1 



19 

It is written in the book, that Man, when fifty, 
must leave the noisy world, to go to the forest 
seclusion. But the poet proclaims that only 
for the young is the forest hermitage. For it 
is the birth-place of flowers, and the haunt of 
birds and bees; and hidden nooks are waiting 
there for the thrill of lover's whispers. There 
the moonlight, that is all one kiss for the mdlati 
flowers, has its deep message, but those who 
understand it are far below fifty. 

And alas, youth is inexperienced and wilful, 
therefore it is but meet, that the old should take 
charge of the household, and the young take to 
the seclusion of forest shades, and the severe 
discipline of courting. 



28 LOVER'S GIFT 



20 

Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
there where the learned muddle the summer 
breeze with their snuff; where dispute is unending 
if the oil depend upon the cask, or the cask upon 
the oil; where yellow manuscripts frown upon the 
fleet-footed frivolousness of life? My song cries 
out. Ah, no, no, no. 

Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
there where the man of fortune grows enormous 
in pride and flesh in his marble palace, with his 
books on the shelves, dressed in leather, painted 
in gold, dusted by slaves, their virgin pages dedi- 
cated to the god obscure? My song gasped and 
said. Ah, no, no, no. 

Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
there where the young student sits, with his head 
bent upon his books, and his mind straying in 
youth's dream-land; where prose is prowling on 
the desk, and poetry hiding in the heart? There 
among that dusty disorder, would you care to 



LOVER'S GIFT 29 

play hide-and-seek? My song remains silent 
in shy hesitation. 

Where is the market for you, my song? Is 
it there where the bride is busy in the house, 
where she runs to her bedroom the moment she 
is free, and snatches, from under her pillows, 
the book of romance so roughly handled by the 
baby, so full of the scent of her hair? My song 
heaves a sigh and trembles with uncertain desire. 

Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
there where the least of a bird's notes is never 
missed, where the stream's babbling finds its 
full wisdom where all the lute-strings of the world 
shower their music upon two fluttering hearts? 
My song bursts out and cries, Yes, yes. 



30 LOVER'S GIFT 



21 

(From the Bengali of Devendranath Sen) 

Methinks, my love, before the daybreak of life 
you stood under some waterfall of happy dreams, 
filling your blood with its liquid turbulence. 
Or, perhaps, your path was through the garden 
of the gods, where the merry multitude of jas- 
mine, lilies, and oleanders fell in your arms in 
heaps, and entering your heart became boisterous. 
Your laughter is a song whose words are drowned 
in the clamour of tune, a rapture of odour of 
flowers that are not seen; it is like the moonlight 
breaking through your lips' window when the 
moon is hiding in your heart. I ask for no reason, 
I forget the cause, I only know that your laughter 
is the tumult of insurgent life. 



LOVER'S GIFT 31 



22 

I SHALL gladly suffer the pride of culture to die 
out in my house, if only in some fortunate future 
I am born a herd boy in the Brinda forest. 

The herd boy who grazes his cattle sitting 
under the banyan tree, and idly weaves gunja 
flowers into garlands, who loves to splash and 
plunge in the Jamuna's cool deep stream. 

He calls his companions to wake up when 
morning dawns, and all the houses in the lane 
hum with the sound of the churn, clouds of dust 
are raised by the cattle, the maidens come out 
in the courtyard to milk the kine. 

As the shadows deepen under the tomal trees, 
and the dusk gathers on the river-banks; when 
the milkmaids, while crossing the turbulent water, 
tremble with fear; and loud peacocks, with tails 
outspread, dance in the forest, he watches the 
summer clouds. 

When the April night is sweet as a fresh-blown 
flower, he disappears in the forest with a pea- 



32 LOVER'S GIFT 

cock's plume in his hair; the swing ropes are 
twined with flowers on the branches; the south 
wind throbs with music, and the merry shepherd 
boys crowd on the banks of the blue river. 

No, I will never be the leader, brothers, of this 
new age of new Bengal; I shall not trouble to 
light the lamp of culture for the benighted. If 
only I could be born, under the shady Asoka 
groves, in some village of Brinda, where milk is 
churned by the maidens. 



LOVER'S GIFT 33 



23 

I LOVED the sandy bank where, in the lonely 
pools, ducks clamoured and turtles basked in the 
sun; where, with evening, stray fishing-boats 
took shelter in the shadow by the tall grass. 

You loved the wooded bank where shadows 
were gathered in the arms of the bamboo thickets; 
where women came with their vessels through 
the winding lane. 

The same river flowed between us, singing the 
same song to both its banks. I listened to it, 
lying alone on the sand under the stars; and you 
listened sitting by the edge of the slope in the 
early morning light. Only the words I heard 
from it you did not know and the secret it spoke 
to you was a mystery for ever to me. 



34 LOVER'S GIFT 



24 

Your window half opened and veil half raised 
you stand there waiting for the bangle-seller to 
come with his tinsel. You idly watch the heavy 
cart creak on in the dusty road, and the boat- 
mast crawling along the horizon across the far- 
off river. 

The world to you is like an old woman's chant 
at her spinning-wheel, unmeaning rhymes crowded 
with random images. 

But who knows if he is on his way this lazy 
sultry noon, the Stranger, carrying his basket 
of strange wares. He will pass by your door with 
his clear cry, and you shall fling open your win- 
dow, cast off your veil, come out of the dusk of 
your dreams and meet your destiny. 



LOVER'S GIFT 35 



25 

I CLASP your hands, and my heart plunges into 
the dark of your eyes, seeking you, who ever evade 
me behind words and silence. 

Yet I know that I must be content in my love, 
with what is fitful and fugitive. For we have 
met for a moment in the crossing of the roads. 
Have I the power to carry you through this crowd 
of worlds, through this maze of paths .^ Have I 
the food that can sustain you, across the dark 
passage gaping with arches of death .^^ , 



36 LOVER'S GIFT 



26 

If, by chance you think of me, I shall sing to 
you when the rainy evening loosens her shadows 
upon the river, slowly trailing her dim light 
towards the west, — when the day's remnant is 
too narrow for work or for play. 

You will sit alone in the balcony of the south, 
and I shall sing from the darkened room. In 
the growing dusk, the smell of the wet leaves will 
come through the window; and the stormy winds 
will become clamorous in the cocoanut grove. 

When the lighted lamp is brought into the 
room I shall go. And then, perhaps, you will 
listen to the night, and hear my song when I 
am silent. 



LOVER'S GIFT 37 



27 

I FILLED my tray with whatever I had, and gave 
it to you. What shall I bring to your feet to- 
morrow, I wonder. I am like the tree that, at 
the end of the flowering summer, gazes at the 
sky with its lifted branches bare of their blossoms. 

But in all my past offerings is there not a single 
flower made fadeless by the eternity of tears? 

Will you remember it and thank me with your 
eyes when I stand before you with empty hands 
at the leave-taking of my summer days? 



38 LOVER'S GIFT 



28 

I DREAMT that she sat by my head, tenderly 
ruffling my hair with her fingers, playing the 
melody of her touch. I looked at her face and 
struggled with my tears, till the agony of un- 
spoken words burst my sleep like a bubble. 

I sat up and saw the glow of the milky way 
above my window, like a world of silence on fire, 
and I wondered if at this moment she had a dream 
that rhymed with mine. 



LOVER'S GIFT 39 



29 

I THOUGHT I had something to say to her when 
our eyes met across the hedge. But she passed 
away. And it rocks day and night, Hke a boat, 
on every wave of the hours the word that I had 
to say to her. It seems to sail in the autumn 
clouds in an endless quest and to bloom into 
evening flowers seeking its lost moment in the 
sunset. It twinkles like fireflies in my heart to 
find its meaning in the dusk of despair the word 
that I had to say to her. 



40 LOVER'S GIFT 



SO 

The spring flowers break out like the passionate 
pain of unspoken love. With their breath comes 
the memory of my old day songs. My heart of 
a sudden has put on green leaves of desire. My 
love came not but her touch is in my limbs, and 
her voice comes across the fragrant fields. Her 
gaze is in the sad depth of the sky, but where 
are her eyes? Her kisses flit in the air, but where 
are her lips.'^ 



LOVER'S GIFT 41 



31 
A POSY 

(From the Bengali of Satyendranath Datta) 

My flowers were like milk and honey and wine; 
I bound them into a posy with a golden ribbon, 

but they escaped my watchful care and fled away 

and only the ribbon remains. 

My songs were like milk and honey and wine, 
they were held in the rhythm of my beating heart, 
but they spread their wings and fled away, the 
darlings of the idle hours, and my heart beats in 
silence. 

The beauty I loved was like milk and honey 
and wine, her lips like the rose of the dawn, her 
eyes bee-black. I kept my heart silent lest it 
should startle her, but she eluded me like my 
flowers and like my songs, and my love remains 
alone. 



42 LOVER'S GIFT 



32 

Many a time when the spring day knocked at 
our door I kept busy with my work and you did 
not answer. Now when I am left alone and heart- 
sick the spring day comes once again, but I know 
not how to turn him away from the door. When 
he came to crown us with joy the gate was shut, 
but now when he comes with his gift of sorrow 
his path must be open. 



LOVER'S GIFT 43 



33 

The boisterous spring, who once came into my 
life with its lavish laughter, burdening her hours 
with improvident roses, setting skies aflame with 
the red kisses of new-born ashoka leaves, now 
comes stealing into my solitude through the 
lonely lanes along the brooding shadows heavy 
with silence, and sits still in my balcony gazing 
across the fields, where the green of the earth 
swoons exhausted in the utter paleness of the sky. 



44 LOVER'S GIFT 



34 

When our farewell moment came, like a low- 
hanging rain cloud, I had only time to tie a red 
ribbon on your wrist, while my hands trembled. 
To-day I sit alone on the grass in the season of 
mahua flowers, with one quivering question in 
my mind, "Do you still keep the little red ribbon 
tied on your wrist?" 

You went by the narrow road that skirted the 
blossoming field of flax. I saw that my garland 
of overnight was still hanging loose from your 
hair. But why did you not wait till I could gather, 
in the morning, new flowers for my final gift.^^ 
I wonder if unaware it dropped on your way, — 
the garland hanging loose from your hair. 

Many a song I had sung to you, morning and 
evening, and the last one you carried in your voice 
when you went away. You never tarried to hear 
the one song unsung I had for you alone and for 
ever. I wonder if, at last, you are tired of my 
song that you hummed to yourself while walking 
through the field. 



LOVER'S GIFT 45 



35 

Last night clouds were threatening and amlak 
branches struggled in the grips of the gusty wind. 
I hoped, if dreams came to me, they would come 
in the shape of my beloved, in the lonely night 
loud with rain. 

The winds still moan through the fields, and 
the tear-stained cheeks of dawn are pale. My 
dreams have been in vain, for truth is hard, and 
dreams, too, have their own ways. 

Last night when the darkness was drunken 
with storm, and the rain, like night's veil, was 
torn by the winds into shreds, would it make 
truth jealous, if untruth came to me in the shape 
of my beloved, in the starless night loud with 
rain? 



46 LOVER'S GIFT 



36 

My fetters, you made music in my heart. I 
played with you all day long and made you my 
ornament. We were the best of friends, my 
fetters. There were times when I was afraid of 
you, but my fear made me love you the more. 
You were companions of my long dark night, 
and I make my bow to you, before I bid you 
good-bye, my fetters. 



LOVER'S GIFT 47 



37 

You had your rudder broken many a time, my 
boat, and your sails torn to tatters. Often had 
you drifted towards the sea, dragging anchor and 
heeded not. But now there has spread a crack 
in your hull and your hold is heavy. Now is the 
time for you to end your voyage, to be rocked 
into sleep by the lapping of the water by the 
beach. 

Alas, I know all warning is vain. The veiled 
face of dark doom lures you. The madness of 
the storm and the waves is upon you. The music 
of the tide is rising high. You are shaken by the 
fever of that dance. 

Then break your chain, my boat, and be free, 
and fearlessly rush to your wreck. 



48 LOVER'S GIFT 



38 

The current in which I drifted ran rapid and 
strong when I was young. The spring breeze 
was spendthrift of itself, the trees were on fire 
with flowers; and the birds never slept from 
singing. 

I sailed with giddy speed, carried away by the 
flood of passion; I had no time to see and feel 
and take the world into my being. 

Now that youth has ebbed and I am stranded 
on the bank, I can hear the deep music of all 
things, and the sky opens to me its heart of stars. 



LOVER^S GIFT 49 



39 

There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes. 
It seems he has seen things in ages and worlds 
beyond memory's shore, and those forgotten 
sights glisten on the grass, and shiver on the 
leaves. He has seen under new veils the face 
of the one beloved, in twilight hours of many a 
nameless star. Therefore his sky seems to ache 
with the pain of countless meetings and partings, 
and a longing pervades this spring breeze, — the 
longing that is full of the whisper of ages without 
beginning. 



50 LOVER'S GIFT 



40 

A MESSAGE came from my youth of vanished 
days, saying, "I wait for you among the quiver- 
ings of unborn May, where smiles ripen for tears 
and hours ache with songs unsung." 

It says, "Come to me across the worn-out track 
of age, through the gates of death. For dreams 
fade, hopes fail, the gathered fruits of the year 
decay, but I am the eternal truth, and you shall 
meet me again and again in your voyage of life 
from shore to shore." 



LOVER'S GIFT 51 



41 

The girls are out to fetch water from the river — 
their laughter comes through the trees, I long to 
join them in the lane, where goats graze in the 
shade, and squirrels flit from sun to shadow, 
across the fallen leaves. 

But my day's task is already done, my jars 
are filled. I stand at my door to watch the glis- 
tening green of the areca leaves, and hear the 
laughing women going to fetch water from the 
river. 

It has ever been dear to me to carry the burden 
of my full vessel day after day, in the dew-dipped 
morning freshness and in the tired glimmer of 
the dayfall. 

Its gurgling water babbled to me when my 
mind was idle, it laughed with the silent laughter 
of my joyous thoughts — it spoke to my heart with 
tearful sobs when I was sad. I have carried it 
in stormy days, when the loud rain drowned the 
anxious cooing of doves. 

My day's task is done, my jars are filled, the 



52 LOVER'S GIFT 

light wanes in the west, and shadows gather be- 
neath the trees; a sigh comes from the flowering 
Hnseed field, and my wistful eyes follow the lane, 
that runs through the village to the bank of the 
dark water. 



LOVER'S GIFT 53 



42 

Are you a mere picture, and not as true as those 
stars, true as this dust? They throb with the 
pulse of things, but you are immensely aloof in 
your stillness, painted form. 

The day was when you walked with me, your 
breath warm, your limbs singing of life. My 
world found its speech in your voice, and touched 
my heart with your face. You suddenly stopped 
in your walk, in the shadow-side of the Forever, 
and I went on alone. 

Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of 
death as it runs; it beckons me on, I follow the 
unseen; but you stand there, where you stopped 
behind that dust and those stars; and you are a 
mere picture. 

No, it cannot be. Had the lifeflood utterly 
stopped in you, it would stop the river in its flow, 
and the footfall of dawn in her cadence of colours. 
Had the glimmering dusk of your hair vanished 
in the hopeless dark, the woodland shade of 
summer would die with its dreams. 



54 LOVER'S GIFT 

Can it be true that I forgot you? We haste 
on without heed, forgetting the flowers on the 
roadside hedge. Yet they breathe unaware into 
our forgetfulness, filling it with music. You 
have moved from my world, to take seat at the 
root of my life, and therefore is this forgetting — 
remembrance lost in its own depth. 

You are no longer before my songs, but one 
with them. You came to me with the first ray 
of dawn. I lost you with the last gold of evening. 
Ever since I am always finding you through the 
dark. No, you are no mere picture. 



LOVER'S GIFT 55 



43 

Dying, you have left behind you the great sad- 
ness of the Eternal in my life. You have painted 
my thought's horizon with the sunset colours of 
your departure, leaving a track of tears across 
the earth to love's heaven. Clasped in your 
dear arms, life and death united in me in a mar- 
riage bond. 

I think I can see you watching there in the 
balcony with your lamp lighted, where the end 
and the beginning of all things meet. My world 
went hence through the doors that you opened — 
you holding the cup of death to my lips, filling 
it with life from your own. 



56 LOVER'S GIFT 



44 

When in your death you died to all that was 
outside me, vanishing from the thousand things 
of the world, to be fully reborn in my sorrow, I 
felt that my life had grown perfect, the man and 
the woman becoming one in me for ever. 



LOVER'S GIFT 57 



45 
Bring beauty and order into my forlorn life, 

woman, as you brought them into my house 
when you lived. Sweep away the dusty frag- 
ments of the hours, fill the empty jars and mend 
all neglects. Then open the inner door of the 
shrine, light the candle, and let us meet there in 
silence before our God. 



58 LOVER'S GIFT 



46 

The sky gazes on its own endless blue and dreams. 
We clouds are its whims, we have no home. The 
stars shine on the crown of Eternity. Their 
records are permanent, while ours are penciled, 
to be rubbed off the next moment. Our part is 
to appear on the stage of the air to sound our 
tambourines and fling flashes of laughter. But 
from our laughter comes the rain, which is real 
enough, and thunder which is no jest. Yet we 
have no claim upon Time for wages, and the 
breath that blew us into being blows us away 
before we are given a name. 



LOVER'S GIFT 59 



47 

The road is my wedded companion. She speaks 
to me under my feet all day, she sings to my 

dreams all night. 

My meeting with her had no beginning, it be- 
gins endlessly at each daybreak, renewing its 
summer in fresh flowers and songs, and her every 
new kiss is the first kiss to me. 

The road and I are lovers. I change my dress 
for her night after night, leaving the tattered 
cumber of the old in the wayside inns when the 
day dawns. 



60 LOVER'S GIFT 



48 

I TRAVELLED the old Foad every day, I took my 
fruits to the market, my cattle to the meadows, 
I ferried my boat across the stream and all the 
ways were well known to me. 

One morning my basket was heavy with wares. 
Men were busy in the fields, the pastures crowded 
with cattle; the breast of earth heaved with the 
mirth of ripening rice. 

Suddenly there was a tremor in the air, and 
the sky seemed to kiss me on my forehead. My 
mind started up like the morning out of mist. 

I forgot to follow the track. I stepped a few 
paces from the path, and my familiar world ap- 
peared strange to me, like a flower I had only 
known in bud. 

My everyday wisdom was ashamed. I went 
astray in the fairyland of things. It was the best 
luck of my life, that I lost my path that morning, 
and found my eternal childhood. 



LOVER'S GIFT 61 



49 

Where is heaven? you ask me, my child, — the 
sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and 
death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and 
night; it is not of this earth. 

But your poet knows that its eternal hunger 
is for time and space, and it strives evermore to 
be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled 
in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating 
heart. 

The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers 
are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in 
you, in the arms of the mother-dust. 



62 LOVER'S GIFT 



50 
THE CHILD 

(Translated from the Bengalin of Dwyendralal RoT/ 

"Come, moon, come down, kiss my darling on 
the forehead," cries the mother as she holds the 
baby girl in her lap while the moon smiles as it 
dreams. There come stealing in the dark the 
vague fragrance of the summer and the night- 
bird's songs from the shadow-laden solitude of 
the mango-grove. At a far-away village rises 
from a peasant's flute a fountain of plaintive 
notes, and the young mother, sitting on the 
terrace, baby in her lap, croons sweetly, "Come, 
moon, come down, kiss my darling on the fore- 
head." Once she looks up at the light of the sky, 
and then at the light of the earth in her arms, 
and I wonder at the placid silence of the moon. 

The baby laughs and repeats her mother's 
call, "Come, moon, come down." The mother 
smiles, and smiles the moonlit night, and I, the 
poet, the husband of the baby's mother, watch 
this picture from behind, unseen. 



LOVER^S GIFT 63 



51 

The early autumn day is cloudless. The river 
is full to the brim, washing the naked roots of 
the tottering tree by the ford. The long narrow 
path, like the thirsty tongue of the village, dips 
down into the stream. 

My heart is full, as I look around me and see 
the silent sky and the flowing water, and feel 
that happiness is spread abroad, as simply as a 
smile on a child's face. 



64 LOVER'S GIFT 



52 

Tired of waiting, you burst your bonds, im- 
patient flowers, before the winter had gone. 
Glimpses of the unseen comer reached your way- 
side watch, and you rushed out running and 
panting, impulsive jasmines, troops of riotous 
roses. 

You were the first to march to the breach of 
death, your clamour of colour and perfume trou- 
bled the air. You laughed and pressed and 
pushed each other, bared your breast and dropped 
in heaps. 

The Summer will come in its time, sailing in 
the floodtide of the south wind. But you never 
counted slow moments to be sure of him. You 
recklessly spent your all in the road, in the terrible 
joy of faith. 

You heard his footsteps from afar, and flung 
your mantle of death for him to tread upon. 
Your bonds break even before the rescuer is seen, 
you make him your own ere he can come and 
claim you. 



LOVER'S GIFT 65 



53 
CHAMPA 

(From the Bengali of Satyendranath Datta) 

I OPENED my bud when April breathed her last 
and the summer scorched with kisses the un- 
willing earth. I came half afraid and half curious, 
like a mischievous imp peeping at a hermit's cell. 

I heard the frightened whispers of the despoiled 
woodland, and the Kokil gave voice to the languor 
of the summer; through the fluttering leaf cur- 
tain of my birth-chamber I saw the world grim, 
grey, and haggard. 

Yet boldly I came out strong with the faith 
of youth, quaffed the fiery wine from the glowing 
bowl of the sky, and proudly saluted the morn- 
ing, I, the champa flower, who carry the perfume 
of the sun in my heart. 



66 LOVER'S GIFT 



54 

In the beginning of time, there rose from the 
churning of God's dream two women. One is 
the dancer at the court of paradise, the desired 
of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds 
of the wise from their cold meditations and of 
fools from their emptiness; and scatters them 
like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant 
winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May. 

The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the 
mother, throned on the fullness of golden autumn; 
she who in the harvest-time brings straying 
hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty 
deep as the sea of silence, — brings them to the 
temple of the Unknown, at the holy confluence 
of Life and Death. 



LOVER'S GIFT 67 



55 

The noonday air is quivering, like gauzy wings 
of a dragon-fly. Roofs of the village huts brood 
birdlike over the drowsy households, while a 
Kokil sings unseen from its leafy loneliness. 

The fresh liquid notes drop upon the tuneless 
toil of the human crowd, adding music to lovers' 
whispers, to mothers' kisses, to children's laughter. 
They flow over our thoughts, like a stream over 
pebbles, rounding them in beauty every un- 
conscious moment. 



68 LOVER'S GIFT 



56 

The evening was lonely for me, and I was read- 
ing a book till my heart became dry, and it seemed 
to me that beauty was a thing fashioned by the 
traders in words. Tired I shut the book and 
snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was 
flooded with moonlight. 

Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance 
overbrims the sky, stand hidden behind a candle's 
tiny flame? How could a few vain words from 
a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice 
has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm.'* 



LOVER'S GIFT 69 



57 

This autumn is mine, for she was rocked in my 
heart. The ghstening bells of her anklets rang in 
my blood, and her misty veil fluttered in my 
breath. I know the touch of her blown hair in 
all my dreams. She is abroad in the trembling 
leaves that danced in my life-throbs, and her 
eyes that smile from the blue sky drank their 
light from me. 



70 LOVER'S GIFT 



58 

Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the 
sands and dust dance and whirl like children. 
Man's mind is aroused by their shouts; his 
thoughts long to be the playmates of things. 

Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, 
stretch their arms to clutch the earth, — their 
efforts stiffen into bricks and stones, and thus 
the city of man is built. 

Voices come swarming from the past, — seek- 
ing answers from the living moments. Beats 
of their wings fill the air with tremulous shadows, 
and sleepless thoughts in our minds leave their 
nests to take flight across the desert of dimness, 
in the passionate thirst for forms. They are 
lampless pilgrims, seeking the shore of light, 
to find themselves in things. They will be lured 
into poet's rhymes, they will be housed in the 
towers of the town not yet planned, they have 
their call to arms from the battlefields of the 
future, they are bidden to join hands in the strifes 
of peace yet to come. 



LOVER'S GIFT 71 



59 

They do not build high towers in the Land of 
All-I-Have-Found. A grassy lawn runs by the 
road, with a stream of fugitive water at its side. 
The bees haunt the cottage porches abloom with 
passion flowers. The men set out on their errands 
with a smile, and in the evening they come home 
with a song, with no wages, in the Land of All- 
I-Have-Found. 

In the midday, sitting in the cool of their 
courtyards, the women hum and spin at their 
wheels, while over the waving harvest comes 
wafted the music of shepherds' flutes. It re- 
joices the wayfarers^ hearts who walk singing 
through the shimmering shadows of the fragrant 
forest in the Land of All-I-Have-Found. 

The traders sail with their merchandise down 
the river, but they do not moor their boats in 
this land; soldiers march with banners flying, 
but the king never stops his chariot. Travellers 
who come from afar to rest here awhile, go away 



72 LOVER'S GIFT 

without knowing what there is in the Land of 
All-I-Have-Found. 

Here crowds do not jostle each other in the 
roads. O poet, set up your house in this land. 
Wash from your feet the dust of distant wander- 
ings, tune your lute, and at the day's end stretch 
yourself on the cool grass under the evening star 
in the Land of All-I-Have-Found. 



LOVER'S GIFT 73 



60 

Take back your coins, King's Councillor. I 
am of those women you sent to the forest shrine 
to decoy the young ascetic who had never seen 
a woman. I failed in your bidding. 

Dimly day was breaking when the hermit 
boy came to bathe in the stream, his tawny locks 
crowded on his shoulders, like a cluster of morn- 
ing clouds, and his limbs shining like a streak of 
sunbeam. We laughed and sang as we rowed in 
our boat; we jumped into the river in a mad 
frolic, and danced around him, when the sun 
rose staring at us from the water's edge in a flush 
of divine anger. 

Like a child-god, the boy opened his eyes and 
watched our movements, the wonder deepening 
till his eyes shone like morning stars. He lifted 
his clasped hands and chanted a hymn of praise 
in his bird-like young voice, thrilling every leaf 
of the forest. Never such words were sung to a 
mortal woman before; they were like the silent 
hymn to the dawn which rises from the hushed 



74 LOVER'S GIFT 

hills. The women hid their mouths with their 
hands, their bodies swaying with laughter, and 
a spasm of doubt ran across his face. Quickly 
came I to his side, sorely pained, and, bowing 
to his feet, I said, "Lord, accept my service." 

I led him to the grassy bank, wiped his body 
with the end of my silken mantle, and, kneeling 
on the ground, I dried his feet with my trailing 
hair. When I raised my face and looked into 
his eyes, I thought I felt the world's first kiss to 
the first woman,— Blessed am I, blessed is God, 
who made me a woman. I heard him say to 
me, "What God unknown are you.? Your touch 
is the touch of the Immortal, your eyes have the 
mystery of the midnight." 

Ah, no, not that smile. King's Councillor, — 
the dust of worldly wisdom has covered your 
sight, old man. But this boy's innocence pierced 
the mist and saw the shining truth, the woman 
divine. 

Ah, how the goddess wakened in me, at the 
awful light of that first adoration. Tears filled 
my eyes, the morning ray caressed my hair like 
a sister, and the woodland breeze kissed my 
forehead as it kisses the flowers. 



LOVER'S GIFT 75 

The women clapped their hands, and laughed 
their obscene laugh, and with veils dragging on 
the dust and hair hanging loose, they began to 
pelt him with flowers. 

Alas, my spotless sun, could not my shame 
weave fiery mist to cover you in its folds? I fell 
at his feet and cried, "Forgive me." I fled like 
a stricken deer through shade and sun, and cried 
as I fled, "Forgive me." The women's foul 
laughter pressed me like a crackling fire, but 
the words ever rang in my ears, "What God 
unknown are you.^^" 



CROSSING 



The Sun breaks out from the clouds on the day 
when I must go. 

And the sky gazes upon the earth Hke God's 
wonder. 

My heart is sad, for it knows not from where 
comes its call. 

Does the breeze bring the whisper of the world 
which I leave behind with its music of tears 
melting in the sunny silence? or the breath 
of the island in the faraway sea basking in 
the Summer of the unknown flowers? 



79 



80 CROSSING 



2 

When the market is over and they return home- 
wards through the dusk, 

I sit at the wayside to watch thee plying thy boat. 

Crossing the dark water with the sunset gleam 
upon thy sail; 

I see thy silent figure standing at the helm and 
suddenly catch thy eyes gazing upon me; 

I leave my song; and cry to thee to take me across. 



CROSSING 81 



The wind is up, I set my sail of songs. 

Steersman, sit at the helm. 

For my boat is fretting to be free, to dance in 

the rhythm of the wind and water. 
The day is spent, it is evening. 
My friends of the shore have taken leave. 
Loose the chain and heave the anchor, we sail by 

the starlight. 
The wind is stirred into the murmur of music 

at this time of my departure. 
Steersman, sit at the helm. 



82 CROSSING 



Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while. 
Let those orphaned days that passed without 

thee be forgotten. 
Only spread this little moment wide across thy 

lap, holding it under thy light. 
I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew 

me yet led me nowhere. 
Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words 

in the soul of my silence. 
Do not turn away thy face from my heart's dark 

secrets, but burn them till they are alight 

with thy fire. 



CROSSING 83 



The scouts of a distant storm have pitched their 
cloud-tents in the sky; the light has paled; 
the air is damp with tears in the voiceless 
shadows of the forest. 

The peace of sadness is in my heart like the 
brooding silence upon the master's lute be- 
fore the music begins. 

My world is still with the expectation of the great 
pain of thy coming into my life. 



84 CROSSING 



6 

Thou hast done well, my lover, thou hast done 

well to send me thy fire of pain. 
For my incense never yields its perfume till it 

burns, and my lamp is blind till it is lighted. 
When my mind is numb its torpor must be stricken 

by thy love's lightning; and the very darkness 

that blots my world burns like a torch when 

set afire by thy thunder. 



CROSSING 85 



Deliver me from my own shadows, my lord, 
from the wrecks and confusion of my days. 

For the night is dark and thy pilgrim is blinded, 

Hold thou my hand. 

Deliver me from despair. 

Touch with thy flame the lightless lamp of my 
sorrow. 

Waken my tired strength from its sleep. 

Do not let me linger behind counting my losses. 

Let the road sing to me of the house at every step. 

For the night is dark, and thy pilgrim is blinded. 

Hold thou my hand. 



86 CROSSING 



8 

The lantern which I carry in my hand makes 
enemy of the darkness of the farther road. 

And this wayside becomes a terror to me, where 
even the flowering tree frowns like a spectre 
of scowling menace; and the sound of my 
own steps comes back to me in the echo of 
muffled suspicion. 

Therefore I pray for thy own morning light, when 
the far and the near will kiss each other and 
death and life will be one in love. 



CROSSING 87 



9 

When thou savest me the steps are lighter in 
the march of thy worlds. 

When stains are washed away from my heart it 
brightens the light of thy sun. 

That the bud has not blossomed in beauty in 
my life spreads sadness in the heart of crea- 
tion 

When the shroud of darkness will be lifted from 
my soul it will bring music to thy smile. 



88 CROSSING 



10 

Thou hast given me thy love, filHng the world 

with thy gifts. 
They are showered upon me when I do not know 

them, for my heart is asleep and dark is the 

night. 
Yet though lost in the cavern of my dreams I have 

been thrilled with fitful gladness; 
And I know that in return for the treasure of thy 

great worlds thou wilt receive from me one 

little flower of love in the morning when my 

heart awakes. 



CROSSING 89 



11 

My eyes have lost their sleep in watching; yet 

if I do not meet thee still it is sweet to watch. 
My heart sits in the shadow of the rains waiting 

for thy love; if she is deprived still it is sweet 

to hope. 
They walk away in their different paths leaving 

me behind; if I am alone still it is sweet to 

listen for thy footsteps. 
The wistful face of the earth weaving its autumn 

mists wakens longing in my heart; if it is in 

vain still it is sweet to feel the pain of longing. 



90 CROSSING 



12 

Hold thy faith firm, my heart, the day will dawn. 
The seed of promise is deep in the soil, it will 

sprout. 
Sleep, like a bud, will open its heart to the light, 

and the silence will find its voice. 
The day is near when thy burden will become thy 

gift, and thy sufferings will light up thy path. 



CROSSING 91 



13 

The wedding hour is in the twihght, when the 
birds have sung their last and the winds are 
at rest on the waters, when the sunset spreads 
the carpet in the bridal chamber and the lamp 
is made ready to burn through the night. 

Behind the silent dark walks the Unseen Comer 
and my heart trembles. 

All songs are hushed, for the service will be read 
under the evening star. 



9^ CROSSING 



14 

In the night when noise is tired the murmur of 

the sea fills the air. 
The vagrant desires of the day come back to their 

rest round the lighted lamp. 
Love's play is stilled into worship, life's stream 

touches the deep, and the world of forms 

comes to its nest in the beauty beyond all 

forms. 



CROSSING 93 



15 

Who is awake all alone in this sleeping earth, 
in the air drowsing among the moveless 
leaves? awake in the silent birds' nests, in 
the secret centres of the flower buds? awake 
in the throbbing stars of the night, in the 
depth of the pain of my being? 



94 CROSSING 



16 

You came to my door in the dawn and sang; it 

angered me to be awakened from sleep, and 

you went away unheeded. 
You came in the noon and asked for water; it 

vexed me in my work, and you were sent 

away with reproaches. 
You came in the evening with your flaming torches. 
You seemed to me like a terror and I shut my door. 
Now in the midnight I sit alone in my lampless 

room and call you back whom I turned away 

in insult. 



CROSSING 95 



17 

Pick up this life of mine from the dust. 

Keep it under your eyes, in the palm of your 
right hand. 

Hold it up in the light, hide it under the shadow 
of death; keep it in the casket of the night 
with your stars, and then in the morning 
let it find itself among flowers that blossom 
in worship. 



96 CROSSING 



18 

I KNOW that this life, missing its ripeness in love, 

is not altogether lost. 
I know that the flowers that fade in the dawn, 

the streams that strayed in the desert, are 

not altogether lost. 
I know that whatever lags behind in this life laden 

with slowness is not altogether lost. 
I know that my dreams that are still unfulfilled, 

and my melodies still unstruck, are clinging 

to some lute-strings of thine, and they are 

not altogether lost. 



CROSSING 97 



19 

You came to me in the wayward hours of spring 

with flute songs and flowers. 
You troubled my heart from ripples into waves, 

rocking the red lotus of love. 
You asked me to come out with you into the 

secret of life. 
But I fell asleep among the murmurous leaves of 

May 
When I woke the cloud gathered in the sky and 

the dead leaves flitted in the wind. 
Through the patter of rain I hear your nearing 

footsteps and the cry to come out with you 

into the secret of death. 
I walk to your side and put my hand into yours, 

while your eyes burn and water drips from 

your hair. 



98 CROSSING 



20 

The day is dim with rain. 

Angry lightnings glance through the tattered 

cloud-veils 
And the forest is like a caged lion shaking its 

mane in despair. 
On such a day amidst the winds beating their 

wings, let me find my peace in thy presence. 
For the sorrowing sky has shadowed my solitude, 

to deepen the meaning of thy touch about 

my heart. 



CROSSING 99 



21 

On that night when the storm broke open my door 
I did not know that you entered my room through 

the ruins. 
For the lamp was blown out, and it became dark; 
I stretched my arms to the sky in search of help. 
I lay on the dust waiting in the tumultuous dark 

and I knew not that storm was your own 

banner. 
When the morning came I saw you standing upon 

the emptiness that was spread over my house. 



100 CROSSING 



22 

Is it the Destroyer who comes? 

For the boisterous sea of tears heaves in the flood- 
tide of pain. 

The crimson clouds run wild in the wind lashed 
by lightning, and the thundering laughter of 
the Mad is over the sky. 

Life sits in the chariot crowned by Death. 

Bring out your tribute to him of all that you 
have. 

Do not hug your savings to your heart, do not 
look behind. 

Bend your head at his feet, trailing your hair 
in the dust. 

Take to the road from this moment. 

For the lamp is blown out and the house is deso- 
late. 

The storm winds scream through your doors, the 
walls are rocking, and the call comes from 
the land of dimness beyond your ken. 

Hide not your face in terror; tears are in vain; 
your door chains have snapped. 



CROSSING 101 

Run out for your voyage to the end of all joys 
and sorrows. 

Let your steps be the steps of a desperate dance. 

Sing "Victory to Life in Death." 

Accept your destiny, O Bride ! 

Put on your red robe to follow through the dark- 
ness the torchlight of the Bridegroom! 



102 CROSSING 



23 

I CAME nearest to you, though I did not know 

it, — when I came to hurt you. 
I owned you at last as my master when I fought 

against you to be defeated. 
I merely made my debt to you burdensome when 

I robbed you in secret. 
I struggled in my pride against your current only 

to feel all your force in my breast. 
Rebelliously I put out the light in my house and 

your sky surprised me with its stars. 



CROSSING 103 



24 

Have you come to me as my sorrow? All the 

more I must cling to you. 
Your face is veiled in the dark, all the more I 

must see you. 
At the blow of death from your hand let my life 

leap up in a flame. 
Tears flow from my eyes, — let them flow round 

your feet in worship. 
And let the pain in my breast speak to me that 

you are still mine. 



104 CROSSING 



S5 

I HID myself to evade you. 

Now that I am caught at last, strike me, see if I 

flinch. 
Finish the game for good. 

If you win in the end, strip me of all that I have. 
I have had my laughter and songs in wayside 

booths and stately halls, — now that you 

have come into my life, make me weep, see 

if you can break my heart. 



CROSSING 105 



26 

When I awake in thy love my night of ease will 
be ended. 

Thy sunrise will touch my heart with its touch- 
stone of fire, and my voyage will begin in its 
orbit of triumphant suffering. 

I shall dare to take up death's challenge and 
carry thy voice in the heart of mockery and 
menace. 

I shall bare my breast against the wrongs hurled 
at thy children, and take the risk of stand- 
ing by thy side where none but thee remains. 



106 CROSSING 



27 

I AM the weary earth of suramer bare of life and 

parched. 
I wait for thy shower to come down in the night 

when I open my breast and receive it in 

silence. 
I long to give thee in return my songs and flowers. 
But empty is my store, and only the deep sigh 

rises from my heart through the withered 

grass. 
But I know that thou wilt wait for the morning 

when my hours will brim with their riches. 



CROSSING 107 



28 

Come to me like summer cloud, spreading thy 
showers from sky to sky. 

Deepen the purple of the hills with thy majestic 
shadows, quicken the languid forests into 
flowers, and awaken in the hill-streams the 
fervour of the far-away quest. 

Come to me like summer cloud, stirring my heart 
with the promise of hidden life, and the glad- 
ness of the green. 



108 CROSSING 



29 

I HAVE met thee where the night touches the 
edge of the day; where the light startles the 
darkness into dawn, and the waves carry 
the kiss of the one shore to the other. 

From the heart of the fathomless blue comes one 
golden call, and across the dusk of tears I try 
to gaze at thy face and know not for certain 
if thou art seen. 



CROSSING 109 



30 

If love be denied me then why does the morning 
break its heart in songs, and why are these 
whispers that the south wind scatters among 
the new-born leaves? 

If love be denied me then why does the midnight 
bear in yearning silence the pain of the stars? 

And why does this foolish heart recklessly launch 
its hope on the sea whose end it does not 
know? 



110 CROSSING 



31 

Only a portion of my gift is in this world, the 

rest of it is in my dreams. 
You, who ever elude my touch, come there in 

secret silence, hiding your lamp. 
I shall know you by the thrill in the darkness, 

by the whisper of the unseen worlds, by the 

breath of the unknown shore; — 
I shall know you by the sudden delight of my 

heart melting into sadness of tears. 



CROSSING 111 



32 

I KNOW you will win my heart some day, my 
lover. 

Through your stars you gaze deep into my dreams; 

You send your secrets in your moonbeams to me, 
and I muse and my eyes dim with tears. 

Your wooing is in the sunny sky thrilling in the 
tremulous leaves, in the idle hours overflow- 
ing with shepherds' piping, in the rain- 
dimmed dusk when the heart aches with its 
loneliness. 



112 CROSSING 



33 

Some one has secretly left in my hand a flower of 

love. 
Some one has stolen my heart and scattered it 

abroad in the sky. 
I know not if I have found him or I am seeking 

him everywhere, if it is a pang of bliss or of 

pain. 



CROSSING 113 



34 

The rains sweep the sky from end to end. 

In the wild wet wind the jasmines revel in their 

own perfume. 
There is a secret joy in the bosom of the night, 

it is the joy of the veiled sky in its hidden 

stars, the joy of the midnight forest in its 

hoarded bird-songs. 
Let me fill my heart with it and carry it in secret 

through the day. 



114 CROSSING 



35 

When I travelled in the day I felt secure, and 
I did not heed the wonder of thy road, for I 
was proud of my speed; thy own light stood 
between me and thy presence. 

Now it is night, and I feel thy road at every step 
in the dark and the scent of flowers filling 
the silence — like mother's whisper to the child 
when the light is out. 

I hold tight thy hand and thy touch is with me 
in my loneliness. 



CROSSING 115 



36 

Sailing through the night I came to hfe's feast, 

and the morning's golden goblet was filled 

with light for me. 
I sang in joy, 

I knew not who was the giver. 
And I forgot to ask his name. 
In the midday the dust grew hot under my feet 

and the sun overhead. 
Overcome by thirst I reached the well. 
Water was poured to me. 
I drank it. 
And while I loved the ruby cup that was sweet as 

a kiss, 
I did not see him who held it and forgot to ask his 

name. 
In the weary evening I seek my way home. 
My guide comes with a lamp and beckons me. 
I ask his name, 
But I only see his light through the silence and 

feel his smile filling the darkness. 



116 CROSSING 



S7 

Do not leave me and go, for it is night. 

The road through the wilderness is lonely and 
dark and lost in tangles: 

The tired earth lies still, like one blind and with- 
out a staff. 

I seem to have waited for this moment for ages 
to light my lamp and cull my flowers. 

I have reached the brink of the shoreless sea to 
take my plunge and lose myself for ever. 



CROSSING 117 



38 

I DID not know that I had thy touch before it was 

dawn. 
The news has slowly reached me through my 

sleep, and I open my eyes with its surprise 

of tears. 
The sky seems full of whispers for me and my 

limbs are bathed with songs. 
My heart bends in worship like a dewladen flower, 

and I feel the flood of my life rushing to the 

endless. 



118 CROSSING 



39 

No guest had come to my house for long, my 
doors were locked, my windows barred; I 
thought my night would be lonely. 

When I opened my eyes I found the darkness 
had vanished. 

I rose up and ran and saw the bolts of my gates 
all broken, and through the open door your 
wind and light waved their banner. 

When I was a prisoner in my own house, and 
the doors were shut, my heart ever planned 
to escape and to wander. 

Now at my broken gate, I sit still and wait for 
your coming. 

You keep me bound by my freedom. 



CROSSING 119 



40 

Put out the lamps, my heart, the lamps of your 

lonely night. 
The call comes to you to open your doors, for 

the morning light is abroad. 
Leave your lute in the corner, my heart, the lute 

of your lonely life. 
The call comes to you to come out in silence, for 

the morning sings your own songs. 



120 CROSSING 



41 

Thy gift of the earliest flower came to me this 
morning, and came the faint tuning of thy 
hght. 

I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy 
golden dawn, 

My wings are radiant with its pollen. 

I have found my place in the feast of songs in 
thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like 
the morning of its mist in a mere play. 



CROSSING 121 



42 

Free me as free are the birds of the wilds, the 

wanderers of unseen paths. 
Free me as free are the deluge of rain, and as the 

storm that shakes its locks and rushes on 

to its unknown end. 
Free me as free is the forest fire, as is the thunder 

that laughs aloud and hurls defiance to 

darkness. 



122 CROSSING 



43 

When you called me I was asleep under the sha- 
dows of my walls and I did not hear you. 

Then you struck me with your own hands and 
wakened me in tears. 

I started up to see that the sun had risen, that 
the floodtide had brought the call of the 
deep, and my boat was ready rocking on the 
dancing water. 



CROSSING 123 



44 

Rejoice ! 

For Night's fetters have broken, the dreams have 

vanished. 
Thy word has rent its veils, the buds of morning 

are opened; awake, O sleeper! 
Light's greetings spread from the East to the West, 
And at the ramparts of the ruined prison rise 

the paeans of Victory! 



124 CROSSING 



45 

In this moment I see you seated upon the morn- 
ing's golden carpet. 

The sun shines in your crown, the stars drop at 
your feet, the crowds come and bow to you 
and go, and the poet sits speechless in the 
corner. 



CROSSING 125 



46 

My guest has come to my door in this autumn 
morning. 

Sing, my heart, sing thy welcome! 

Make thy song the song of the sunht blue, of 
the dew-damp air, of the lavish gold of har- 
vest fields, of the laughter of the loud water. 

Or stand mute before him for awhile gazing at 
his face; 

Then leave thy house and go out with him in 
silence. 



126 CROSSING 



47 

I LIVED on the shady side of the road and watched 
my neighbours' gardens across the way 
revelHng in the sunshine. 

I felt I was poor, and from door to door went 
with my hunger. 

The more they gave me from their careless abund- 
ance the more I became aware of my beg- 
gar's bowl. 

Till one morning I awoke from my sleep at the 
sudden opening of my door, and you came 
and asked for alms. 

In despair I broke the lid of my chest open and 
was startled into finding my own wealth. 



CROSSING 127 



48 

Thou hast taken him to thine arms and crowned 
him with death, him who ever waited out- 
side hke a beggar at hfe's feast. 

Thou hast put thy right hand on his failures and 
kissed him with peace that stills life's tur- 
bulent thirst. 

Thou hast made him one with all kings and with 
the ancient world of wisdom. 



128 CROSSING 



49 

In the world's dusty road I lost my heart, but 

you picked it up in your hand. 
I gleaned sorrow while seeking for joy, but the 

sorrow which you sent to me has turned to 

joy in my life. 
My desires were scattered in pieces, you gathered 

them and strung them in your love. 
And while I wandered from door to door, every 

step led me to your gate. 



CROSSING 129 



50 

I WAS with the crowd when I was in the road; 
Where the road ends I find myself alone with you. 
I knew not when my day dimmed into dusk and 

my companions left me. 
I knew not when your doors opened and I stood 

surprised at my own heart's music. 
But are there still traces of tears in my eyes 

though the bed is made, the lamp is lit, and 

we are alone, you and I? 



130 CROSSING 



51 

When they came and clamoured and surrounded 

me they hid thee from my sight. 
I thought I would bring to thee my gifts last of 

all. 
Now that the day has waned, and they have 

taken their dues and left me alone, 
I see thee standing at the door. 
But I find I have no gift remaining to give, and 

I hold both my hands up to thee. 



CROSSING 131 



52 

Much have you given to me, 

Yet I ask for more. — 

I come to you not merely for the draught of 

water, but for the spring; 
Not for guidance to the door alone, but to the 

Master's hall; not only for the gift of love, 

but for the lover himself. 



132 CROSSING 



5S 

I HAVE come to thee to take thy touch before I 

begin my day. 
Let thy eyes rest upon my eyes for awhile. 
Let me take to my work the assurance of thy 

comradeship, my friend. 
Fill my mind with thy music to last through the 

desert of noise! 
Let thy Love's sunshine kiss the peaks of my 

thoughts and linger in my life's valley where 

the harvest ripens. 



CROSSING 133 



54 

Stand before my eyes, and let thy glance touch 
my songs into a flame. 

Stand among thy stars and let me find kindled 
in their lights my own fire of worship. 

The earth is waiting at the world's wayside; 

Stand upon the green mantle she has flung upon 
thy path; and let me feel in her grass and 
meadow flowers the spread of my own salu- 
tation. 

Stand in my lonely evening where my heart 
watches alone; fill her cup of solitude, and 
let me feel in me the infinity of thy love. 



134 CROSSING 



55 

Let thy love play upon my voice and rest on my 
silence. 

Let it pass through my heart into all my move- 
ments. 

Let thy love like stars shine in the darkness of 
my sleep and dawn in my awakening. 

Let it burn in the flame of my desires 

And flow in all currents of my own love. 

Let me carry thy love in my life as a harp does 
its music, and give it back to thee at last 
with my life. 



CROSSING 135 



56 

You hide yourself in your own glory, my King. 

The sand-grain and the dew-drop are more 
proudly apparent than yourself. 

The world unabashed calls all things its own 
that are yours — ^yet it is never brought to 
shame. 

You make room for us while standing aside in 
silence; therefore love lights her own lamp 
to seek you and comes to your worship un- 
bidden. 



136 CROSSING 



57 

When from the house of feast I came back home, 
the spell of the midnight quieted the dance 
in my blood. 

My heart became silent at once like a deserted 
theatre with its lamps out. 

My mind crossed the dark and stood among the 
stars, and I saw that we were playing un- 
afraid in the silent courtyard of our King's 
palace. 



CROSSING 137 



58 

I WAS musing last night on my spendthrift days, 

when I thought you spoke to me — 
"In youth's careless career you kept all the doors 

open in your house. 
The world went in and out as it pleased — the 

world with its dust, doubts, and disorder — 

and with its music. 
With the wild crowd I came to you again and 

again unknown and unbidden. 
Had you kept shut your doors in wise seclusion 

how could I have found my way into your 

house .f^" 



138 CROSSING 



59 

None needs be thrust aside to make room for you. 

When love prepares your seat she prepares it for 
all. 

Where the earthly King appears, guards keep out 
the crowd, but when you come, my King, 
the whole world comes in your wake. 



CROSSING 139 



60 

With his morning songs he knocks at our door 

bringing his greetings of sunrise. 
With him we take our cattle to the fields and 

play our flute in the shade. 
We lose him to find him again and again in the 

market crowd. 
In the busy hour of the day we come upon him 

of a sudden, sitting on the wayside grass. 
We march when he beats his drum, 
We dance when he sings. 
We stake our joys and sorrows to play his game 

to the end 
He stands at the helm of our boat. 
With him we rock on the perilous waves. 
For him we light our lamp and wait when our day 

is done. 



140 CROSSING 



61 

Run to his side as his comrades where he works 

with all workers. 
Sit around him as his partners where he plays his 

games. 
Follow him where he marches, keeping step to 

the rhythm of his drumbeats. 
Rush into the thick of the fair — the fair of life and 

death — 
For there he is with the crowd in the heart of its 

tumult. 
Do not falter in your journey across the lonely 

hills over the thorns. 
For his call sounds at every step and we know 

that it is love's voice. 



CROSSING 141 



62 

When bells sounded in your temple in the morn- 
ing, men and women hastened down the 
woodland path with their offerings of fresh 
flowers. 

But I lay on the grass in the shade and let them 
pass by. 

I think it was well that I was idle, for then my 
flowers were in bud. 

At the end of the day they have bloomed, and I 
go to my evening worship. 



142 CROSSING 



My King's road that lies still before my house 

makes my heart wistful. 
It stretches its beckoning hand towards me; its 

silence calls me out of my home; with dumb 

entreaties it kisses my feet at every step. 
It leads me on I know not to what abandonment, 

to what sudden gain or surprises of distress. 
I know not where its windings end — 
But my King's road that lies still before my 

house makes my heart wistful. 



CROSSING 143 



64 

While I walk to my King's house at the end of 

the day the travellers come to ask me — 
"What hast thou for King's tribute?" 
I do not know what to show them or how to 

answer, for I have merely this song. 
My preparation is large in my house, where the 

claim is much and many are the claimants. 
But when I come to my King's house I have 

only this single song to offer it for his wreath. 



144 CROSSING 



65 

My songs are the same as are the spring flowers, 
they come from you. 

Yet I bring these to you as my own. 

You smile and accept them, and you are glad at 
my joy of pride. 

If my song flowers are frail and they fade and 
drop in the dust, I shall never grieve. 

For absence is not loss in your hand, and the fugi- 
tive moments that blossom in beauty are 
kept ever fresh in your wreath. 



CROSSING 145 



66 

My King, thou hast called me to play my flute 
at the roadside, that they who bear the bur- 
den of voiceless life may stop in their errands 
for a moment and sit and wonder before the 
balcony of thy palace gate; that they may see 
anew the ever old and find afresh what is 
ever about them, and say, "The flowers are 
in bloom, and the birds sing." 



146 CROSSING 



67 

When my first early songs woke in my heart I 

thought they were the playmates of the 

morning flowers. 
When they shook their wings and flew into the 

wilderness it seemed to me that they had the 

spirit of the summer which comes down with 

a sudden thunder roar to spend its all in 

laughter. 
I thought that they had the mad call of the 

storm to rush and lose their way beyond 

the sunset land. 
But now when in the evening light I see the blue 

line of the shore, 
I know my songs are the boat that has brought 

me to the harbour across the wild sea. 



CROSSING 147 



68 

There are numerous strings in your lute, let me 

add my own among them. 
Then when you smite your chords my heart will 

break its silence and my life will be one with 

your song. 
Amidst your numberless stars let me place my 

own little lamp. 
In the dance of your festival of lights my heart 

will throb and my life will be one with your 

smile. 



148 CROSSING 



69 

Let my song be simple as the waking in the 

morning, as the dripping of dew from the 

leaves, 
Simple as the colours in clouds and showers of 

rain in the midnight. 
But my lute strings are newly strung and they 

dart their notes like spears sharp in their 

newness. 
Thus they miss the spirit of the wind and hurt 

the light of the sky; and these strains of my 

songs fight hard to push back thy own music. 



CROSSING 149 



TO 

I HAVE seen thee play thy music in life's dancing 
hall; in the sudden leaf -burst of spring thy 
laughter has come to greet me; and lying 
among field flowers I have heard in the grass 
thy whisper. 

The child has brought to my house the message 
of thy hope, and the woman the music of 
thy love. 

Now I am waiting on the seashore to feel thee in 
death, to find life's refrain back again in the 
star songs of the night. 



150 CROSSING 



71 

I REMEMBER my childhood when the sunrise, 
like my play-fellow, would burst in to my 
bedside with its daily surprise of morning; 
when the faith in the marvellous bloomed 
like fresh flowers in my heart every day, 
looking into the face of the world in simple 
gladness; when insects, birds and beasts, 
the common weeds, grass and the clouds 
had their fullest value of wonder; when the 
patter of rain at night brought dreams from 
the fairyland, and mother's voice in the even- 
ing gave meaning to the stars. 

And then I think of death, and the rise of the 
curtain and the new morning and my life 
awakened in its fresh surprise of love. 



CROSSING 151 



72 

When my heart did not kiss thee in love, O 
world, thy light missed its full splendour 
and thy sky watched through the long night 
with its lighted lamp. 

My heart came with her songs to thy side, whis- 
pers were exchanged, and she put her wreath 
on thy neck. 

I know she has given thee something which will 
be treasured with thy stars. 



152 CROSSING 



73 

Thou hast given me thy seat at thy window from 
the early hour. 

I have spoken to thy silent servants of the road 
running on thy errands, and have sung with 
thy choir of the sky. 

I have seen the sea in calm bearing its immeasur- 
able silence, and in storm struggling to break 
open its own mystery of depth. 

I have watched the earth in its prodigal feast 
of youth, and in its slow hours of brooding 
shadows. 

Those who went to sow seeds have heard my 
greetings, and those who brought their har- 
vest home or their empty baskets have passed 
by my songs. 

Thus at last my day has ended and now in the 
evening I sing my last song to say that I 
have loved thy world. 



CROSSING 153 



74 

It has fallen upon me, the service of thy singer. 
In my songs I have voiced thy spring flowers, 

and given rhythm to thy rusthng leaves. 
I have sung into the hush of thy night and peace 

of thy morning. 
The thrill of the first summer rains has passed 

into my tunes, and the waving of the autumn 

harvest. 
Let not my song cease at last, my Master, when 

thou breakest my heart to come into my 

house, but let it burst into thy welcome. 



154 CROSSING 



75 

Guests of my life. 

You came in the early dawn, and you in the night. 

Your name was uttered by the Spring flowers 

and yours by the showers of rain. 
You brought the harp into my house and you 

brought the lamp. 
After you had taken your leave I found God's 

footprints on my floor. 
Now when I am at the end of my pilgrimage I 

leave in the evening flowers of worship my 

salutations to you all. 



CROSSING 155 



76 

I FELT I saw your face, and I launched my boat 

in the dark. 
Now the morning breaks in smiles and the spring 

flowers are in bloom. 
Yet should the light fail and the flowers fade 

I will sail onward. 
When you made mute signal to me the world 

slumbered and the darkness was bare. 
Now the bells ring loud and the boat is laden 

with gold. 
Yet should the bells become silent and my boat 

be empty I will sail onward. 
Some boats have gone away and some are not 

ready, but I will not tarry behind. 
The sails have filled, the birds come from the 

other shore. 
Yet, if the sails droop, if the message of the shore 

be lost, I will sail onward. 



156 CROSSING 



7T 

"Traveller, where do you go?" 

"I go to bathe in the sea in the redd'ning dawn, 

along the tree-bordered path." 
"Traveller, where is that sea?" 
"There where this river ends its course, where 

the dawn opens into morning, where the day 

droops to the dusk." 
"Traveller, how many are they who come with 

you?" 

"I know not how to count them. 

They are travelling all night with their lamps 

lit, they are singing all day through land 

and water." 
"Traveller, how far is the sea?" 
"How far is it we all ask? 
The rolling roar of its water swells to the sky when 

we hush our talk. 
It ever seems near yet far." 
"Traveller, the sun is waxing strong." 
"Yes, our journey is long and grievous. 



CROSSING 157 

Sing who are weary in spirit, sing who are timid 

of heart." 
"Traveller, what if the night overtakes you?" 
"We shall lie down to sleep till the new morning 

dawns with its songs, and the call of the sea 

floats in the air." 



158 CROSSING 



78 

Comrade of the road, 

Here are my traveller's greetings to thee. 

O Lord of my broken heart, of leave taking and 

loss, of the grey silence of the day fall, 
My greetings of the ruined house to thee! 

Light of the new-born morning, 
Sun of the everlasting day, 

My greetings of the undying hope to thee! 
My guide, 

1 am a wayfarer of an endless road. 
My greetings of a wanderer to thee. 



THE END 



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experience which consciously or unconsciously we try 
to reach." — Boston Transcript. 

The Hungry Stones and Other 



St 



ones 



Cloth, $1.35; leather, $1.75 



''These short stories furnish a double guarantee of the 
Hindu Nobel Prize winner's rightful place among the 
notable literary figures of our time." — New York Globe. 

"Imagination, charm of style, poetry, and depth of 
feeling without gloominess, characterize this volume 
of stories of the Eastern poet." — Boston Transcript. 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 



THE WORKS OF SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE 

THE NEW BOLPUR EDITION OF 
"The Standard Edition of Tagore's Works" 

£ac^ volume in the Bolpur Edition^ cloth^ $^.^0 ; leather, $2.00 

This beautiful new edition, named after Tagore's famous school at Bol- 
pur, India, is a fitting celebration of his recent visit to America. There are 
ten volumes in the Bolpur Edition, representing Tagore's previously pub- 
lished poems, plays and essays, and his two new books just issued, " Fruit 
Gathering," and " The Hungry Stones, and Other Stories." 

The paper, printing and general appearance of the volumes are unusual, 
carrying out the intention of the publishers to make these books the stand- 
ard editions of this distinguished poet's works. 

A special design has been made for the covers, the end papers and title 
pages are in colors, and each volume contains a photogravure frontispiece, 
one of these from a portrait of Tagore taken during his recent visit to Japan. 

SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE'S WORKS 

{Complete in the Bolpur Edition) 

FRUIT GATHERING. (Just published.) A sequel to the famous 
Gitanjali. 

THE HUNGRY STONES, AND OTHER STORIES. (Just 
published.) 

CHITRA : A Play in One Act. 

THE CRESCENT MOON: Child Poems. 

THE GARDENER: Love Poems. 

GITANJALI : Religious Poems. 

THE KING OF THE DARK CHAMBER. A Play. 

SONGS OF KABIR. 

SADHANA : The Realization of Life. 

THE POST OFFICE: A Play. 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: July 2009 

PreservationTechnologi 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVAl 
111 Tbomson Park Drive 



AP«^ 



26 



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